


Precipice

by MostFacinorous



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Cannibalistic Thoughts, Gen, Homicidal Thoughts, Suicidal Thoughts, unpleasant thoughts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-30
Updated: 2013-06-30
Packaged: 2017-12-16 15:12:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 832
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/863441
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MostFacinorous/pseuds/MostFacinorous
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He sometimes thought that maybe Doctor Lecter would understand. He would certainly accept it, with the same unperturbed expression that he always wore. But just every now and again, without his face changing really, Will thought he might feel it too. Or something like it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Precipice

Precipice

 

He stood at the edge of a cliff, the last firm spot of land that overlooked a steep drop off. A landslide had caused it, perhaps, rain had come and washed this all away, maybe something had shifted. Maybe man had done it. It didn’t matter. 

The dogs were behind him, running and playing, darting in and out of the trees and he stood just listening.  
Birds and wind and foliage rustling, the dogs playing. His own heart, his own breaths. He let his world narrow until all there was was him. Standing here, now. He felt like he was making the conscious decision not to leap, though he knew—even with the questionable stability of his mind, he knew—that he wouldn’t jump. 

But elsewhere, in the course of his existence as a complicated metaphor, his mind was swaying over the precipice. It wanted to jump. It wanted the ruination that would come, wanted those brief, shining moments of glorious freedom, before the sharp plunge. And the part of him that wasn’t a cynical neurotic mess even thought that there might be some chance that the fall would never happen at all. That he would somehow sprout wings, or discover that he had been capable of levitation or flight all along. Metaphorically speaking, of course. 

It was all too easy, when he opened his eyes, to imagine his body dashed below, broken and leaking onto the dark Virginia soil. 

He imagined the dogs above him, lined up on the edge, looking down and crying after him. They would be among the few to cry. Alana would, too… Beverly, maybe. Jack would sigh, blame himself. And move on. Doctor Lecter—Hannibal—Would he cry? Had he already shed his tears for Will Graham, the day that he’d sent him right into Tobias Budge’s waiting arms? No. He’d cry, too. Tears for the waste of his mind. That was, after all, everything that Will boiled down to. A brilliant mind, attached to a problematic person. 

He wished he could find the Ripper. He felt like everything came back to him. He wanted, with the same metaphoric longing to jump, he wanted to find the Ripper. Talk to him alone. Ask him to end it. 

He felt like a teenaged girl looking at a pop idol. He felt like he’d somehow be different; maybe the Ripper would respect him. He would be the one who found him, the one who was able to keep up. The one who saw him. The Ripper wanted to be seen. Would meet his gaze steadily and unflinchingly. He wouldn’t look away, and Will wouldn’t want to. He’d gifted him a scene. He was performing for him now.  
It was like a lapdance, but much more intimate, much more personal… and sensual in a way that sweat and nudity could never achieve on its own.  
So he’d meet him, and ask to be the last victim. 

The last victim. It was a good title. But maybe he was more like the first… something else. He wasn’t exactly a victim, but his mind was boiling over with thoughts of this killer, this man. It was disgusting and dirty, and he wanted it, but he hated it. He wanted to be the Ripper. As much as, maybe more than, he had ever slipped into being Garrett Jacob Hobbs.

The more he was forced into socializing, the more he could understand the Ripper’s views, why he saw some people as nothing more than animals. Why should they be any better than that? They didn’t behave better. 

And no, he didn’t necessarily imagine himself… eating them.  
But.  
The Ripper himself?

Will didn’t know if he wanted to devour him or be devoured. 

He laughed, the chuckle a withered sound when it finally hit the air, everything stronger inside of him than it really was, than the rest of the world could see. That was the only reason he wasn’t already locked up. But he knew if he told anyone these things, he would be.

Faster than he could blink, he would be. 

Except… maybe

He sometimes thought that maybe Doctor Lecter would understand. He would certainly accept it, with the same unperturbed expression that he always wore. But just every now and again, without his face changing really, Will thought he might feel it too. Or something like it.

That… something. It drew him in, made him feel like a moth courting flame. Because the mask Hannibal wore was so firm, so well maintained and controlled… who knew the depths of the darkness under it?

For all he knew…

He shook himself—the dogs were whining and it had gotten dark. He’d been standing there for hours. 

He looked out over the edge one last time, and turned away from leaping. 

He wasn’t crazy, and he wasn’t evil. He’d catch the bastard. And when he did…

When he did, maybe then he would indulge. 

And what would Doctor Lecter say about _that_?

**Author's Note:**

> Hope you enjoyed! If you're interested in getting updates on future stories, or if you just want to drop by and say hi, you can find me at MostFacinorous.tumblr.com!


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